


Attack of the 150-Foot Jelly Donut

by RogueTranslator



Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Comedy, Falling In Love, First Love, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, McDean, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21593428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueTranslator/pseuds/RogueTranslator
Summary: John Paul invites Craig over for a film, leading to an epiphany.This takes place in October 2006, while the Dean-Osbornes are homeless. It's before Hannah and Sarah, and of course before John Paul made known any of his feelings for Craig, so it's really about the earliest stages of their relationship. I always thought that John Paul would have Craig over at his constantly in this era, so I decided to write one of those days.
Relationships: Craig Dean/John Paul McQueen
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Attack of the 150-Foot Jelly Donut

“There you are.” Craig pushed himself away from the iron railing and scowled. “What took you so long? I’ve been waiting ages.”

“Sorry, mate.” John Paul snapped his mobile shut and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sonny was just talking my ear off about—I don’t even know what, to be honest.”

“You should’ve told him to get lost. I’ve been standing in the cold for twenty minutes!”

“Yeah.” John Paul stopped at Craig’s spot by the fence and tilted his head apologetically. “Yeah, maybe I should’ve done. It’s just—I’m just trying to get on with everyone on the team, you know? Sometimes that means humouring them.”

Craig crossed his arms and huffed a tendril of breath into the early evening. “And what about me?”

“Are you sulking?” John Paul grinned, adjusting one of the straps of his backpack. “Is that what this is?”

“No,” Craig said flatly. “Sulking—pshh, what are you talking about?”

“I tell you what, come back to mine and I’ll make it up to you. We can have some drinks, watch a film—my DVD of _Attack of the 150-Foot Jelly Donut_ arrived in the post yesterday.”

“Your what?”

“Oh, it’s ace. It’s this cult horror flick from way back. Not too many people know about it here. I had to get it shipped from some collector in America.”

Craig smiled. “Aren’t you flash.”

“Well, I’ve got to spend my DJing money on something.” John Paul glanced at the grass, then back to Craig’s face. “So, you coming?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds like a laugh.” Craig thrust his hands into his coat and followed John Paul. “Feels like weeks since I’ve had a proper night off.” They crossed the street and started walking to the end of the row of houses.

“Working too hard?”

“I don’t know. No, not any harder than usual. It’s just living in that creepy B&B, in a single room with the rest of my family—it does my head in.”

John Paul chuckled. “I bet. I think I’d get carted off to the nuthouse within a couple days if I were trapped in one room with my lot. Honestly, the looney bin might be preferable.”

“Hey,” Craig said, stopping abruptly and placing his arm across John Paul’s chest. “Why don’t we pop in to the corner shop on the way, pick up some cans and things to snack on.”

John Paul pushed his hand off. “Don’t be daft, we’ve got all sorts of stuff at ours. You’re my guest, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but we’re always hanging around at yours. I don’t want to eat your mum out of house and home, you know? She’ll think I’m taking the mick pretty soon.”

“No, she won’t.” The streetlights flickered on in unison all the way to the corner, and John Paul resumed walking. “It’s not like we can go to your house, is it?”

“Okay,” Craig acquiesced. “But—but, if she asks, tell her that I suggested we bring some munchies home with us.”

John Paul laughed. “She _won’t_. You’re being paranoid.”

“Ah.” Craig spun around and jogged to catch up to John Paul, then smacked him on the arse. “Ah!”

“What are you doing?” John Paul said, laughing again.

“Just excited about how this night’s shaping up.” Craig rubbed his hands together and grinned radiantly. “I tell you what JP, I won’t forget how hospitable you’ve been. I’m already planning out what we can do when The Dog opens again.”

“Is that right?”

“Yup. Once I get a new Xbox, I’ll have you round for pizza night.”

John Paul shrugged as they passed from the shadows of one streetlamp to the next. “Pizza sounds good. I’m not really much of a gamer, though.”

“That’s alright. I usually play with Steph, so I’m used to winning.”

“Charming,” John Paul commented. They turned onto the McQueens’ street and crossed over to the other side.

“Oh, and I can make us a nice meal one evening,” Craig said, jumping up onto the kerb behind John Paul.

“Are you a good cook?”

Craig rubbed his neck. “I do alright. Make a mean quiche, or so I’ve been told.”

“Do you? I quite like quiche. Don’t do much cooking myself, though.”

“Yeah.” Craig elbowed John Paul’s forearm. “I guess, living with six women, they must do all the domestic stuff and you—you just put your feet up. I’m jealous, mate.”

“As if.” John Paul bumped Craig away and looked up at the few stars already visible in the twilight. “More like, I’m their unpaid manservant twenty-four seven.”

Craig ran past John Paul, then turned around to face him whilst walking backwards. “Mate, I’ll trade places with you if you want. Wouldn’t mind being bossed around by your sisters. You know, ordered to do their washing, massage their feet, run the bubble bath for them, stuff like that.”

“Shut up.” John Paul dashed forward to catch up with him; Craig yelped and sprinted the rest of the way to the McQueens’ front garden. “Pervert!”

“Check it out,” Craig said, once John Paul had arrived at his side. He lifted his hand to indicate the panoply of dark windows across the McQueen façade. “Looks like we might have the place to ourselves.”

John Paul snorted. “I doubt it. That’s the sort of luck I wasn’t born with.”

“Then it’s a good job you’ve got Craig Dean as a mate, isn’t it?” He strutted up the footpath, patting one of the garden statues on the buttocks along the way.

“Idiot,” John Paul said, under his breath, before following him to the front door.

“Hurry up, John.” Craig blew into his hands. “It’s freezing.”

John Paul rolled his eyes as he fished through his pocket for his keys. “Stop being such a drama queen.”

“Uh, you weren’t the one who was stood out in the cold for half an hour. I nearly froze my nuts off!”

“You said it was twenty minutes before.” John Paul fit his key into the door and turned the lock. “By the time I stop hearing about it, you’ll have been stuck there overnight.”

“Meh meh meh meh,” Craig replied, imitating John Paul’s voice.

“It’s only me,” John Paul called. He turned on the staircase light. “Anyone home?”

“I’m in the kitchen, love!”

“Mum, Craig’s here. We’re going to watch a film.” John Paul slung his backpack over the banister, then slid Craig’s courier bag from his shoulder and hung it from the same post.

“Oh, was that the one in the parcel that came for you yesterday?” Myra ambled around the kitchen partition.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Evening, Mrs McQueen.” Craig leaned forward on his toes and waved.

“Hiya, Craig. How’s your mum doing?”

“She’s alright, yeah. I mean, considering.”

“I suppose that, well, having got used to the finer things over the last year, your current lodgings must be a bit of a challenge for her.”

“Mum,” John Paul warned.

“I’m just expressing sympathy, love.” Myra glanced over her shoulder at the refrigerator. “Have you boys had your tea yet?”

“No, we came straight from practice.”

“Not exactly _right_ after,” Craig grumbled.

John Paul smirked, ignoring him. “I was thinking I might just heat up a frozen pizza.”

“Oh, you sure? I could cook up something. I’m having some soup from a tin, since it’s only me, but now that you two are here—”

“Mum, it’s fine. Just relax and finish eating, alright? I’ll sort it.” John Paul lay his jacket over the arm of the settee and walked to the kitchen.

“Isn’t he considerate.” Myra beamed at John Paul as he passed her. “He’ll make a doting husband to some lucky girl one day.”

John Paul’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, alright, mum. Craig isn’t here to listen to you natter on.” He turned around to look at Craig. “You coming?”

“Oi, cheeky.” Myra swatted John Paul’s upper arm as she returned to the table. “You see what I have to put up with, Craig? I bet you don’t talk to your mother like that.”

Craig bumped into John Paul’s back and winked to him over his shoulder. “What is he like, eh, Mrs McQueen? I mean, what sort of teenage boy _hasn’t_ already started planning his wedding?”

“You two.” She laughed and dipped a soda cracker into her vegetable soup. “You’re as bad as each other.”

John Paul opened the freezer and reached in for a pizza. “Pepperoni? We’ve got sausage and mushroom as well.”

“Nah, pepperoni’s good. Actually, both sound good. You choose.” Craig leaned against the worktop and took out his mobile.

“There’s some green salad in the fridge from the other day. Why don’t you serve yourselves a bit of that as well?”

John Paul snorted. “Yeah right.”

“It wasn’t a recommendation, John Paul.” Myra dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her serviette. “As long as you’re sleeping under my roof, you’ll have vegetables with your meal.”

John Paul handed the pizza to Craig, then opened the refrigerator to look for the salad. “What about Craig?”

“Well, he’s your guest, isn’t he? So, give him whatever he wants.”

“Craig?” John Paul turned the oven on and glanced at him.

Craig looked up from his phone. “Ah, just give me whatever you’re having. We’ll get through it together. What are friends for, eh?”

“I’m moved.” John Paul nodded at Craig’s mobile. “My company not enough for you?”

“Nah, I’m just texting mum. Telling her I’ll be back a bit later.” Craig put his phone in his pocket and turned to him. “To be honest, I’m grateful for every minute I don’t have to spend at that grotty B&B.”

“Oh, well you’re welcome at ours anytime, love.” Myra stood and carried her dishes to the sink.

“Don’t let our Kayla hear you say that.” John Paul opened the refrigerator and retrieved two cans of lager, then handed one to Craig. “She isn’t his biggest fan.”

“Oh, why does that not surprise me?” Myra stared out at the back garden through the window whilst rinsing out her bowl. “She’s never liked any of your friends. It’s just her way.”

“I—I really appreciate it, Mrs McQueen,” Craig said, pulling at his tab. “That you don’t mind me spending so much time here, I mean.”

“Suck-up,” John Paul whispered to him.

“Don’t be daft, you’re a friend of John Paul’s.”

“It’s only until the new Dog opens. After that, I’ll have him round to mine all the time.”

“I’m sure he’ll love that.” Myra finished drying her dishes and turned to them. “He’s overjoyed for any excuse to not be home these days.”

“Mum.”

“And only one of those,” she said, flicking her finger at the lager in John Paul’s hand.

“But—it’s a Friday!”

“And you’re seventeen!” Myra walked to the door to the lounge and smiled back at Craig. “You’ll keep an eye on him, won’t you, love?”

“And I suppose he gets to fill his boots?” John Paul called, as Myra climbed the stairs.

“Goodnight, lads!”

John Paul and Craig locked eyes and laughed.

“You see John Paul, now that I’ve been put in charge for the rest of the night, we’ll be doing things a bit differently around here.” Craig heaved himself onto the worktop as John Paul walked past him to the cooker.

“Is that so?” John Paul opened the oven and slid the pizza onto the rack. “Is the first rule, ‘everyone must wear ugly cardies?’”

Craig looked down at his sleeves, then back to John Paul. "That’s no way to speak to the person who _may_ consider letting you take sips from his can of lager.”

John Paul rolled his eyes. “You don’t want to know what I’m considering doing.”

“This—” Craig glanced at his cardigan again. “This isn’t so bad, is it? I mean, the chicks seem to love it.”

“I don’t know.” John Paul walked to the dresser and picked up the DVD case, staring down at the bloodthirsty jam doughnut on the cover rather than making eye contact with Craig again. “I’m the wrong person to ask.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Uh.” John Paul shrugged and flipped over the case in his hands. “Just that I’ve never been too good with girls.”

“Huh. That’s surprising.”

John Paul turned around. “Why?”

“Well, I mean, you just seem like—like the kind of bloke girls go for. You know, you’re a nice-looking lad, tall, athletic, good conversation, talented, confident—”

“Yeah, alright,” John Paul said, his cheeks reddening.

“I’m serious!” Craig tipped the rest of his lager into his mouth and set the can down beside him. “If I were a girl, I would totally ask you out.”

John Paul snorted and walked into the lounge.

“Not—I mean, not in a gay way or anything,” Craig said, jumping down from the worktop and following him. “I’m completely straight, in case that’s what you’re thinking.”

John Paul kneeled in front of the DVD player and sighed.

“What I mean to say is, I’m surprised that someone like you isn’t a lady-killer. I mean, I feel like a geeky runt on the pitch next to you.”

John Paul turned on the television. “Oh, only then?”

“Hey.” Craig looked up at him from the couch, pretending to pout.

“Seriously, though, you’re not so bad.” John Paul flopped into the opposite corner of the couch and looked at him in the unsteady blue light of the TV. “I’m sure there’s loads of girls who’d want to go out with you.”

“Go out with me, maybe,” Craig said, crossing his arms. “Only so they could mug me off after a few weeks of hassle.”

John Paul raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just—let’s just watch the jam doughnut, alright?”

“It’s ‘jelly donut.’ It escapes from a bakery in America—Pennsylvania, or Ohio, someplace like that. Thereafter commences its reign of terror.”

“Well, don’t spoil the entire plot for me before we even watch it.” Craig nodded his chin at the screen. “Aren’t you going to start it?”

“I’m waiting for the pizza to finish.” John Paul glanced at the oven, then stood up. “Might be done now, actually.”

“Get me a lager whilst you’re up,” Craig said. He met John Paul’s glare with a simper. “Please?”

“Mate, you are really pushing it.” John Paul shuffled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “All manners with mum, right? ‘Oh yes, Mrs McQueen. I’m such a good little boy.’” He shifted the pizza onto a cutting board and began cutting it into wedges. “Then, the instant she’s out of sight, you act like you have full run of the place.”

Craig laughed. “I just asked for lager; you were walking there anyway, weren’t you?”

“Ugh,” John Paul said, pretending to not have heard. “This salad’s minging.”

“You know something, John Paul?”

“Do I?”

“You have a bit of a temper. Just underneath that cool, placid exterior, there’s a—a bubbling sea of magma, just waiting to erupt!”

“Is there,” John Paul replied, balancing the two plates on one arm whilst picking up the can in the other.

“Now, I’m no stranger to kicking off myself—cheers,” Craig said, as John Paul handed him the lager and a plate. “But something tells me that when you blow your top, it’s something pretty spectacular.”

John Paul sat down and picked up the remote. “Yeah, well get my back up enough and you’ll find out for yourself.”

“I’d rather not,” Craig said, lifting a slice to his mouth.

John Paul started the film and leaned back into the cushions. The opening credits rolled slowly over a vista of American farmland. Craig kicked off his shoes, then stretched his legs across the length of the couch.

John Paul glanced down and frowned. “You’re sticking your grotty feet next to my dinner.”

“My feet don’t stink,” Craig said indignantly. “Smell them!”

“I _can_ ,” John Paul replied, as a key rattled at the front door. “And I wouldn’t be surprised if mum can from upstairs and all.”

“Big girl’s blouse.” Craig leaned forward to inspect his socks.

“Who’s a big girl’s blouse?” Michaela kicked the door shut behind her and looked at the two of them. “Oh, what a surprise, Craig’s here. Again.”

“Hello to you, too.”

John Paul paused the film. “We’re watching _Attack of the 150-Foot Jelly Donut_ , so if you’re going to stay down here you need to shut up.”

“Why, what’s so great about it?” Michaela slapped Craig’s shoulder. “Budge up, will you? I want to see why John Paul’s been banging on about this since yesterday.”

Craig groaned and swung his feet to the carpet, then shifted over to the middle cushion. Michaela plopped down beside him.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Craig glanced at Michaela as John Paul unpaused the DVD. “You know, organising a tea party for your soft toys, something like that?”

“Shut up, freak.” She wrinkled her nose and looked around. “What’s that smell?”

“The salad,” Craig said quickly, avoiding John Paul’s gaze. “Yeah, must be this salad. It’s minging.”

“Oh, tell me about it. I think mum made that at the start of this week, don’t know why she hasn’t binned it yet.”

“Quiet, the pair of you.” John Paul bit into a slice of pizza and chewed slowly, his eyes on the screen. “This is the famous scene where the doughnut jumps out of the fryer and burns the face off the baker with boiling oil.”

“On second thought, this looks dull.” Michaela sprang up and stretched. “I’d rather run myself a bath.”

“Then go and flaming do that,” John Paul said, his nostrils flaring. “Just stop interrupting.”

“Alright, you pillock. Sorry I crashed your date with your boyfriend.” Michaela stuck out her tongue, then ran up the stairs.

“Thought she’d never leave.” Craig bit into another slice of pizza.

John Paul snorted. “She was here for, like, two minutes.”

“More than enough, if you ask me.”

“Shush.” John Paul turned up the volume on the TV. “And put your shoes back on, will you?”

“I—” Craig sighed and moved his feet to the arm of the couch. “There, they’re nice and far away. You can stop moaning now.”

John Paul exhaled and finished his last piece of pizza. Onscreen, the doughnut was absorbing an unconscious woman feet-first.

“Check out these special effects.” Craig sipped from his can. “Not exactly _The Matrix_ , is it?”

“That’s like going to the _Mona Lisa_ and complaining that it’s not as good as a photograph.”

“What?” Craig finished his lager and set the can on the coffee table. “You’re comparing this B film about a homicidal doughnut to the _Mona Lisa_?”

“It’d only be homicide if it were killing other doughnuts,” John Paul corrected.

“Alright,” Craig said, after a while. “You got me there, I guess.”

 _Lieutenant Coleman,_ one of the characters was saying. _We believe it assimilates its victims into its gelatinous centre, using living things to power its growth and movement._

Craig lifted his hand and kicked against the end of the settee, pushing himself closer to John Paul’s shoulder. “Why don’t they all just get in their cars and drive off?”

“Haven’t you ever seen a creature feature?” John Paul rolled his eyes. “There’s always a reason the people can’t just run away.”

“That’s what I’m saying! If you had me around in a situation like this, I’d make sure we survived. I ask the important questions.”

“You’d be doughnut jam before the intermission, mate.”

Craig canted his head and leaned back further into the cushions. “Maybe.”

John Paul watched the rising action of the film for a while longer, pleased that Craig had finally decided to stop talking. The doughnut continued to grow, kill after kill, instar after instar, until it was nearly the size advertised by the title. With a swell of bassoon and double bass, the doughnut batted a formation of warplanes out of the sky, swallowing them up into its blood-red core.

“They’ve tried all the obvious things by now,” John Paul noted. “Gunfire, explosives, heat, electricity, even intense cold, like in _The Blob_. And the army knows at this point that it’s an ancient alien lifeform that was brought up by oil drilling.”

Craig mumbled something faintly.

“I love how the writing doesn’t go for something dead obvious, you know? I mean, it’s even a bit philosophical, once you know the twist at the end. Craig?”

Craig nudged his head into John Paul’s shoulder and snored softly. His mouth hung slightly open and a thin line of drool extended from his lower lip to John Paul’s sleeve. John Paul watched Craig for a few seconds, a smile of contentment slowly spreading across his face.

 _It’s no use resisting, sir,_ one of the soldiers was saying. _That thing’s a force of nature. No matter what you do, it’ll catch you in the end._

John Paul brought his free hand across his body and, without knowing why he was doing it, stroked his fingers lightly to the side of Craig’s face: his hairline, his temple, the soft rise of his cheek, the stubble of his jaw.

 _No, private,_ the lieutenant retorted. _That’s where you’re wrong. In me, it’s met its match._

John Paul dropped his hand to his lap and glanced up as the front door opened.

“Hiya, John Paul.” Jacqui lurched in and peered at him and Craig. “What’s going on here?”

“Shush,” John Paul hissed.

“Okay, sorry.” Jacqui walked over, then dropped to her knees behind the couch to be at John Paul’s eye level. “What’s this shite you’re watching?”

“ _Attack of the 150-Foot Jelly Donut_ , and it isn’t shite.” John Paul flicked his eyes to the stairs. “Bog off, will you? You’re going to wake Craig.”

“Oh yeah? Cramping your style, am I?” Jacqui grinned at him and ran her fingers through her hair. “Besides, you know I’m kipping where you’re sitting, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but—don’t you need the loo or something first?”

Jacqui patted his shoulder and stood up again. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Won’t make a peep.”

 _It’s sound!_ The film’s heroine shouted up the radio tower to the lieutenant. _The creature’s weakness—it’s sound!_

John Paul blinked and tried to focus on the climax of the plot. Craig made another dreamy noise and nuzzled his head further into John Paul’s arm, sending a wave of warmth down John Paul's body.

“What on earth is she wearing?” Jacqui shut the refrigerator and pulled at the tab of a can of lager. “Figures, all these films just have women in them to wear tarty outfits and mug for the camera.”

“I—” Craig stirred and looked up at John Paul, smiling when their eyes met. “Who’s tarty?”

Jacqui snorted. “Of course he wakes up after hearing that. Randy little git.”

“No one,” John Paul said quietly. “It’s almost the end of the film now.”

“Oh, is it?” Craig rubbed his eyes and glanced around, then relaxed back onto John Paul’s shoulder. “Did I nod off? Sorry mate, I’ve just been so sleep deprived in that B&B, so I’m tired all the time.”

“It’s okay.” John Paul glanced at him, then back to the screen. “Really.”

The alien doughnut cratered into the ruins of the town, defeated by the amplified radio signal from the top of the tower. The lieutenant and the heroine gripped each other and shared a passionate embrace.

“Oh, ain’t that lovely.” Jacqui leaned against the kitchen partition and swigged her lager. “Word of advice, boys: the real world never turns out all neat and tidy and loved-up. Hollywood makes a killing off of deluding people.”

John Paul looked over his shoulder. “Thanks for that ray of sunshine, Jacq. If I’m ever in danger of looking forward to anything in life, I’ll be sure to come to you.”

Craig laughed awkwardly, then started and looked at his watch. “Crap!”

John Paul turned to him. “What?”

“Oh my god, I completely forgot about the time. How long was that film?”

“A bit over two hours, why?”

“It’s 9:10.” Craig hung his head in his hands. “I must have been asleep for over an hour.”

Jacqui cackled. “Ooh, staying out past nine. How naughty are you, eh?”

Craig fumbled with his phone. “Battery’s dead, can I use your charger?”

“Yeah, it’s in my room.” John Paul frowned as Craig leapt up from the settee. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you up there.” Craig sprinted up the staircase.

“That kid is seriously strange.” Jacqui drained the rest of her can. “Talk about high-strung.”

John Paul shook his head at her and ran up the stairs after Craig.

“John,” Craig yelled. John Paul walked through the door of his room and closed it behind him.

“Don’t shout, alright? Mum’s probably asleep already.”

“Sorry.” Craig was standing next to John Paul’s desk, rubbing his neck. “I can’t find your charger.”

“Oh, it’s by my bed.” John Paul pointed to the small cord on his bedside table.

“Thanks,” Craig said, once he’d plugged in his mobile. He gave John Paul a wan smile. “Sorry about before, I was just disoriented after waking up.”

John Paul sat down next to him at the edge of the bed. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on now?”

“It’s the rules of this stupid B&B. There’s a nine o’clock curfew. The woman who runs the place, she’s strict about it for some reason, and we’re already on thin ice as it is.”

“Oh.” John Paul shrugged. “Well, that’s not too serious, is it?”

“Ugh.” Craig’s shoulders slumped as he scrolled through his texts and missed calls. “Mum’s furious. She just sent me another text in all caps.” Craig clapped his hand to his forehead and groaned. “I am dead.”

“Hey.” John Paul rubbed Craig’s upper back gingerly. “Hey, it’s alright. You can just sleep here, you know.”

“I can?” Craig dropped his hand to his thigh and looked up at John Paul.

“Of course! I mean, it’s only for one night. And it’ll save your mum a lot of bother.”

“Yeah.” Craig beamed at him. “Yeah, this is brilliant! I’ll text her to let her know.”

“I’m sure my mum won’t mind,” John Paul continued. “She loves cooking up breakfast for guests of ours. Or at least it always seems that way.”

“JP,” Craig said, placing his mobile on John Paul’s bedside table. “You’re such a good mate. You’ve saved my life, I mean—you seriously don’t know, this woman at the B&B, she probably would’ve murdered me. After mum murdered me first, of course.”

They both laughed; John Paul looked at Craig in the dim yellow lamplight and held his gaze for a lingering moment. Craig’s eyes darted back and forth over John Paul’s face before slowing and blinking several times.

“Uh,” Craig said, laughing nervously. “Where do you want me to kip, then? The settee?”

“Oh. No, Jacqui sleeps there.” John Paul glanced around. “Would my floor be alright?”

“Mate, that sounds wonderful.” Craig checked his phone and grinned. “Mum says I better kiss your feet for saving my bacon.”

John Paul rose and stretched. “I think we can settle for a pint when the new Dog opens.”

“No, I have to think of something way better than that.” Craig stood up and rested his chin on John Paul’s shoulder. “I’ll have to find you some really rare record you’ve been after, that sort of thing.”

“Oh.” John Paul snapped his fingers and looked at Craig in his full-length mirror. “You know the film we just watched? If you can find it, I’ve been searching for the sequel for ages: _The 150-Foot Jelly Donut vs. the Mummified Mastodon._ ”

Craig smiled at their reflection and wrapped his arms around John Paul’s chest. “Say no more. If anyone can find something of incredible rarity and dubious artistic value on the internet, it’s Craig Dean.”

John Paul opened his mouth to reply, but something about the way Craig had intertwined his body with his in the gentle shadows, how he tensed and swayed his form in anticipation of John Paul’s response, robbed him of any eloquence he might have had.

_That thing’s a force of nature. No matter what you do, it’ll catch you in the end._

“What?” Craig tightened his embrace, suggesting not just affection, but ownership. His eyes flickered expectantly in the lull before his next sentence. “No witty rejoinder?”

_That’s where you’re wrong. In me, it’s met its match._

John Paul looked back at him. If he spoke, the ineffable completeness of the moment would break into pieces, sliding away and apart as irrevocably as the motion of the continents. Just as it had in the film, sound would vanquish the silence. The other possibility, revealing itself in the contours of the single silhouette in the mirror, was that John Paul could let the universe carry on for a while longer, unchanging in its perfection, as the seconds were counted out against his back by the beating of Craig’s heart.


End file.
